A Dysfunctional Summer
by Im-On-A-Roll
Summary: Sometimes we don't know how much someone means to us until we lose them.
1. Chapter 1

_Chapter 1_

"I'm expecting perfection from you on your final today, Harold," Mr. Berman strictly told his son as he drove. "Nothing less. Do you understand?"

Harold nodded miserably as he slouched down lower into the passenger seat.

"Good. And sit up straight, please."

Harold, refusing to start another argument, did as he was told. This wasn't a typical thing for him, being driven to school by his father. But due to the traumatizing position he'd recently found himself in, a quiet ride to school seemed a lot more pleasant than having all his friends around him to express their sympathy, or lack thereof in the case of Helga.

Unfortunately riding with his dad barely made up for it. Ever since the accident that had claimed his mother's life, his relationship with his father had been a rather estranged one. They barely spoke except in matters of school, which Mr. Berman had become much more serious about. Since summer break was just around the corner, and since Harold wasn't exactly a straight A student, he couldn't afford to again be told that he had to repeat the fourth grade. So for the last several weeks, he'd been studying four hours a night with his father. The results did show improvement, but today was when all that studying would be put to the test. It was the last day of school and that meant the end of final exams. And if Harold couldn't succeed in his Science exam today, he could only imagine how his father would react.

That was basically how Harold was expected to live now: life according to Jerry Berman. Reading, studying, getting perfect grades, behaving like a gentleman, basically anything that didn't fall under Harold's definition of fun. Now that his mother was no longer around to tell him to live life as he saw fit, it was as if his father was taking advantage of this by running Harold's life for him. Mr. Berman barely seemed bothered by their family's loss. In fact, sometimes Harold was convinced that the accident had not left his father affected at all. Of course, Harold had always been something of a mama's boy so naturally he was more likely to be melancholy than his father. Then again, the two of them didn't exactly see eye to eye. Maybe Mr. Berman really was hurting as much as his son, but he wouldn't show it because he knew he had to be strong.

Either way, Harold was unhappy. He felt as though he'd in a way lost both his parents at once. His relationship with his father had been rocky enough before the accident, but now it was as if they weren't even related. Other than homework, they'd done no real bonding lately. Then again, that wasn't exactly surprising. The old saying, "like father, like son" didn't exactly apply to them. They had so few things in common and they were almost never together. They weren't even together when the police had come to their house to inform them that their mother and wife had perished in a tragic car accident. Poor Harold had been home alone that day. He'd found out about it first and his father was at work not knowing something was out of the ordinary.

And now, sulking in the passenger seat, Harold was wondering what on earth his father had in mind for their summer. One thing was for sure though: it was not going to be Harold's idea of fun. Mr. Berman was probably going to get Harold to go to work with him and waste his summer vacation in an office when he could have been outside enjoying himself with his friends. Or maybe the two of them would be going on some road trip to visit a bunch of boring museums and landmarks (Mr. Berman's idea of a vacation).

Regardless, as the car finally pulled up to the familiar red brick building that was P.S. 118, Harold knew his days of happiness were numbered. He undid his seatbelt and prepared to step out. But before his foot could even touch the pavement…

"Remember, Harold, perfection."

"_I know Dad, I heard you the twentieth time,"_ Harold said in his mind. Outwardly he said, "Yes, Sir."

"Good. I'll see you tonight," said Mr. Berman.

"Hm," Harold replied as he shut the car door behind him.

All the kids around him were laughing with excitement knowing it was the last day of school. But Harold felt more like it was the last day of his life. With his mind full of haunting echoes from the past and dreadfully dull visions of the future, he marched slowly up the concrete steps ready to face his final exam.

_End of Chapter 1_


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

2:55 pm. The three o'clock bell that marked the students' freedom was five minutes away. No one in Mr. Simmons' class could maintain their excitement… except for Harold. Not that he was apprehensive about the result of his exam; if anything that was the only good thing on his mind right now. He was positive he'd nailed that science exam. Not that it made a difference though. He'd remembered what to do to keep a person from freezing to death, but at what point in his life would he have to apply that knowledge in real life? Still, at least this would prevent being reprimanded by his father. He felt more confident than ever about school, but it still scared him to think about the boring summer break that was to begin in five short minutes.

He looked around at his classmates and began to feel envious as he overheard them discussing their summer plans with each other. Arnold and Gerald had an entire week of movies, baseball, and fishing coming up. Helga and Phoebe were planning on the arcade on Saturday… or at least Helga was planning and Phoebe was adding it to her schedule. Nadine and Rhonda were, once again, bumping heads about whether they would go on a shopping spree courtesy of Rhonda or do some experiment with a cockroach Nadine had found somewhere on the street. Okay, maybe not all of these plans would have interested Harold, but all of them sounded more exciting that whatever was awaiting him.

"Excuse me, Harold," said Mr. Simmons, who had been sitting quietly at his desk all the while grading the tests.

Harold snapped out of his state of deep thought and turned his attention to the teacher. "Uh, yes Mr. Simmons?"

"If you don't mind, I'd like to see you after the bell rings to discuss your exam."

"Ooooooooooooooooh!" Sid and Stinky said simultaneously.

"_Did you have to ask that in front of everyone?"_ Harold thought.

"Sid, Stinky, please," Mr. Simmons said in a stern voice. "Nobody's in trouble. On the contrary I think Harold will be pleased with what I have to tell him."

Barely two minutes later, the bell rang and the rest of the class ran out of class knowing they were free. Harold, however, remained in his seat with his palms beginning to sweat. Mr. Simmons said it was good news, so hopefully this was nothing more than a word of congratulations. Of course, that also seemed rather pointless. Couldn't Simmons have just written, "Well done, Harold!" on the report card that would be sent out in a week?

Mr. Simmons calmly approached Harold's desk with his eyes glued to his exam paper.

"I assume you're wondering why I've asked you to stay behind, Harold," Mr. Simmons said. "Am I right?"

Harold nodded.

"Well there are, in fact, two reasons. First, I wanted to congratulate you on a job well done."

That had been expected, more or less.

"A plus. Congratulations, Harold."

Harold sighed. He was free from his father's "wrath". "Thanks so much, Mr. Simmons."

"It's not a problem at all… uh, as long as you don't tell Phoebe," Mr. Simmons said in a slight whisper.

That was sure interesting. He, Harold Berman, had beaten Phoebe Heyerdahl at her own game? There was certainly no way she was going to find out, especially knowing how protective Helga was of her best friend's title.

"You have my word," Harold replied in an understanding voice.

"Alright, good." Simmons continued. "And second, I… Well… Harold, I mean this in the nicest possible way, but you've been showing a drastic improvement in your studies lately and frankly it's… well it's worrying me."

Harold raised his eyebrow in confusion.

"Don't get me wrong," said Mr. Simmons. "It's a great thing that you've improved so much but I've just never expected you to suddenly become such a top-notch student out of nowhere."

Harold was so confused now. He was getting in trouble for improving in his work? How often did that happen?

"Again, this isn't bad. I'm just saying it's unexpected from you, if I may. I just wanted to ask you if everything's going alright in your life."

Harold wanted to sigh, but he concealed it. Of course. The typical Mr. Simmons, "Are you feeling alright?" lecture. How could Harold not see that coming? Every time someone did something that was completely unlike them, Simmons would notice it on the spot and turn it into a huge head scratcher. Harold of all people knew that. Both he and Helga had become victims of that after the aptitude test.

Still, Harold couldn't lie to a teacher as understanding as Mr. Simmons. He inhaled calmly and said, "I'm fine, Mr. Simmons. Really, I am. It's just that, well you know, I've been held back so long and I was starting to think I'd never make it to the fifth grade and I thought it was time to get my act together."

"And?" Apparently Mr. Simmons could always tell when he wasn't hearing the whole story.

Harold sighed. "Okay, here's the thing. My dad's just kinda been on my back about my grades since my mom… You know." He didn't really have the guts to say the words mom and die in the same sentence.

"Oh yes," said Mr. Simmons. "I remember your father telling me about your loss. I really am sorry about everything, Harold. But nonetheless, I'm also interested in knowing if you and your father are getting along well at home."

Why? Did he think Mr. Berman had become an abusive monster? Still, getting along wasn't exactly what Harold and his father had been doing since the accident.

"Oh yeah, we're both fine," said Harold. "He's taking good care of me and you can tell he's been caring about my grades."

"Yes," said Mr. Simmons. "But what I mean to say is, how are you getting along outside of your homework? I especially want to know now that summer vacation's here. Do you two have anything planned?"

"Not exactly," Harold replied shyly. At least that was what he thought. His father probably did have something (boring) planned.

"I see," Mr. Simmons said thoughtfully. "Well if it helps, I'll be going to my beach house this weekend and I'll be there for the rest of the month of June. If you and your father still don't have anything planned, I'd be glad to have your company."

Beach house during the summer? Any day! But would Harold's boring father approve?

"That's nice of you, Mr. Simmons, but I'm gonna have to check with my dad about it."

Mr. Simmons nodded. "I understand. Well in case he says yes, I'll give you the address and try to help you both have a good summer. I know you've both been through a lot. Besides, a father and son should be happily bonding during the summer."

"Well knowing my dad, and how different we are, it may take a while for us to start bonding," Harold admitted. "But thanks again, Mr. Simmons."

_End of chapter_


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter 3_

A week later, all was silent and still in the Berman household. The house was empty with the exception of Harold, who was doing the list of chores his father had left for him that morning.

Mr. Berman was at work. He'd woken up early, eaten breakfast in a flash, and was out the door before Harold could rub the sleep out of his eyes. When the teenager had finally rolled out of bed, he'd gone straight to the kitchen to fix his own breakfast and found his father's list of chores on the counter. That was pretty much how the mornings had started all week. Mr. Berman wouldn't be back until at least six o'clock and even then the house would remain silent. For the rest of the daytime hours, Harold would have to talk to himself to remind him he still had a voice.

The chores on his father's list weren't anything super hard. If anything, they were rather basic: wash the dishes, dust, take all dirty clothes to the laundry room, and listen for the mailman. Not that any of it was hard, but it wasn't fun either. Harold would have much rather be out with his friends, who had invited him to their events plenty of times, but his dad was very specific about getting all chores done on time. And even if his dad wasn't there to make sure everything was done on time, Harold still wasn't in any position to disobey.

By noon, he'd finished the dishes, dusting, and laundry. Now all he had to do was wait for the mail and bring it in when it came. He decided to watch TV to pass the time. To his delight, there was nothing boring on every channel like the time when he was suspended.

After a few minutes, he heard the sound of envelopes passing through the mail slot and subsequently hitting the floor. The mail had arrived. He went to the front door and picked up the small stack of envelopes that was on the floor. Then he skimmed through each envelope to see to whom each one was addressed and where it had come from.

Bill, bill, bill, bill, report card, bill… Report card?

"How did I forget this was coming today?" he asked himself as he set the rest of the mail on the counter. "Oh well, might as well see how I've done."

He tore the envelope open and, to his astonishment, noticed the contents were, not one, but two folded papers. He removed both papers and noticed that one held his grades and the other was a letter from Mr. Simmons. Harold ignored the latter for a moment to look over his grades. Straight C pluses. That was so bittersweet. This was the best report card he'd ever gotten, but he knew his father would be only slightly impressed.

Then he read the letter from Mr. Simmons. It read the following.

"_Dear Harold, _

_Well done on your improved grades! I hope you are having a good summer so far and I hope you have considered my offer for you and your father to spend a short time with me at the beach. If not, don't worry. I'll understand if you decide not to. Still, in case you are interested, I included the address you can find me at in this letter. Fell free to come by any time you wish. _

_Hope all is well, _

_Mr. Simmons."_

* * *

><p>"No, Harold."<p>

"Why not?" Harold complained.

"Because I am expecting you to improve your mind this summer so that you'll be ready for the fifth grade. What do you expect to learn by wasting time at the beach?"

Harold thought about that for a moment and then said, "I don't know. Maybe I could learn how to defend myself against a shark. Or I could learn what sunscreens are waterproof and which ones aren't. Or…"

Mr. Berman sighed. "I rest my case."

"C'mon, Dad. I'm serious."

"So am I."

Could this man be more stubborn? "But Dad, Mr. Simmons is gonna be there. You know what he's like. He can teach me all sorts of stuff."

"Harold, if you want to learn about marine life, then go to the library or the aquarium or something," Mr. Berman advised. "Or better yet, I've been planning for you and me to take a road trip in July. We'll be going to the all the best museums in the whole state. One of them is bound to have an aquatic exhibit."

Harold was stunned. How did he know his dad had a boring road trip planned? "Road trip? Museums? How the heck does that beat going to the beach?"

"Think of it this way," said Mr. Berman. "It'll be all the fun of the beach without all the sharks and sunburn you just mentioned."

Now Harold was losing his patience. "Dad, I want my summer to be fun. And I'm sorry and all, but I don't see what's fun about going to a bunch of stupid, old museums."

Mr. Berman glared at his son. "Excuse me?"

Harold was not holding back this time. "I said I'm not wasting my summer by going to a bunch of stupid, old museums!" he barked.

"Is that so?"

"Yeah!"

"Well this may seem hard for you to believe, young man," said Mr. Berman. "But my idea of fun is by going to those 'stupid, old museums.'"

Harold scoffed. "Then you have no life at all."

"That's it, you're not going anywhere this summer!" Mr. Berman scolded. "You are grounded until school starts, now go to your room and read a book for a change!"

Harold furiously turned on his heal and stomped noisily up the stairs.

"And don't even think about slamming the…" Before Mr. Berman could finish, Harold angrily slammed his bedroom door shut so loudly it could possibly be heard from next door. "… door."

Harold miserably threw himself onto his bed, on the verge of tears. Not because he was grounded for the rest of the summer, that was the least of his issues. He was recalling how thrilled he had been this time last year and how everything was at it should have been. He was done with school, both his parents were alive and happy, and he could go out and be with his friends whenever he wanted. Sure his grades were awful, but so what? He couldn't care less about grades anymore. All that mattered was the depressing question of how one summer could be so great and the next summer had brought nothing but change, and none of it was for the better.

He miserably buried his face in his pillow dwelling on his thoughts. It felt as though all the happiness in his life was being sucked out of him unexpectedly. Each minute that passed seemed to take something he held dear with it. His friends, his favorite hobbies, his relationship with his father, and above all his mother; the only person who had ever loved him unconditionally… well, other than Patty, but she'd moved away months ago.

It was official. Poor Harold was left with no happiness at all now. He moped around in his room for the rest of the day, not caring if his father never came up to check on him, or even about his empty stomach. By nine o'clock, he'd moped himself to the point of exhaustion. Feeling lonely and sad, he lay flat on his mattress, pulled the covers over him, and dozed off into a restless sleep.

_End of chapter _


	4. Chapter 4

_Chapter 4_

3:17 a.m. Harold, with a suitcase containing all the clothes and other belongings he could pack, was sitting quietly on the first bus he could find that was heading for the beach. Because of the early morning hours, there were very few passengers. But as far as Harold was concerned, it was best that way. It meant less people would be there to wonder why a thirteen-year-old boy would be out after three o'clock with a suitcase instead of at home in bed, or more to the point, why he was out by himself.

The reason why was pretty simple. Earlier that night as he slept restlessly in his bed, Harold had been haunted by dreams about his late beloved mother. Not nightmares, just haunting reminders of the love that was unfairly taken from the young teenager in a single moment. It was difficult for him to admit even to himself, but seeing these memories in his sleep was comforting as much as it was devastating. You see after Marilyn passed away, it seemed to Harold that everything about her had gone with her, and that means _everything_. For the whole of the following weeks, Harold had no recollection of her voice, the scent of her perfume, her delicious cooking, nothing. Everything about her had become a huge blur.

Maybe he was just thinking this out of anger, but right now it seemed to Harold that his father was the reason for his inability to remember. After all, it was Jerry who had refused to mention her or even think about her since the funeral. Harold had thought that talking about her would help ease the pain, but whenever he mentioned her Jerry would reprimand him. Then again, maybe it was Jerry's fault.

Regardless of who was to blame, all the memories of Marilyn had returned to Harold through those dreams. He suddenly remembered everything about her and it was like she'd never even left. Maybe they weren't even dreams. Well they were some form of dreams considering Harold knew he was asleep when they occurred, but that was just how real they seemed. Maybe, just maybe, they were messages from his mother's spirit and they were telling him that she was still with him. All he had to do was remember her.

At around five minutes to two, Harold had been awoken by the shock of realization. Not only did the dreams remind him of the happiness his mother had given him, they made him realize that she was still there in his heart and the only thing that would remind him of her presence was to remember her. It was clear to him now. He truly did want to remember, but there was only one thing keeping him from doing that: Jerry.

Thus, Harold was now on that bus to the beach. He'd decided that his mother would want him to enjoy his summer vacation rather than wasting it doing whatever his boring father suggested. He would be visiting Mr. Simmons at the beach with or without his father's approval. He of course knew that eventually he would have to face his father and explain himself, but he would worry about that later.

After a few minutes of sitting quietly and reflecting on his thoughts, the bus came to a stop and Harold stepped off, with his suitcase in one hand and the paper containing Mr. Simmons' address in the other. The small bus stop was only a few yards away from the ocean, as well as a strangely isolated beach house that Harold assumed provided its owners with an extravagant view of the entire beach. He examined the paper in his and decided to begin looking for Mr. Simmons' house. The search literally took a few seconds. To Harold's surprise, Mr. Simmons' beach house was the isolated one just between the ocean and the bus stop.

"Wow," Harold told himself. "Mr. Simmons sure knows how to pick 'em."

He approached the lone beach house, feeling a sudden chill from the moist in the air from the cold ocean, and rang the doorbell. He wondered if Mr. Simmons would take kindly to being awoken at half past three in the morning, or if he would even wake up. Moments later, Harold hear footsteps on the other side of the door and the porch light right above his head turned on. Then the door opened to reveal none other than Mr. Simmons wearing slippers and a bathrobe over his pajamas. He yawned, revealing that he'd just woken up, and looked down at his former pupil.

"Harold?" he asked.

"Hi, Mr. Simmons," Harold replied, trying to sound casual.

Mr. Simmons yawned again and asked said, "I wasn't quite expecting you so early… and I mean early in more ways than one."

Harold smiled nervously. "Sorry about that."

"It's alright," Mr. Simmons replied, looking around as if he was expecting more than one person. "If you don't mind me asking, why are you here all alone? Where's your father?"

Harold had expected that, but he wasn't exactly ready to reveal the truth yet. "Uh… Well, I…"

Mr. Simmons shook his head. "Oh never mind that now, come inside. I'll take you to the guestroom and you can tell me everything in the morning."

"Thanks, Mr. Simmons."

_End of chapter_


	5. Chapter 5

_Chapter 5_

Harold slept well in Mr. Simmons' guestroom. He was relieved Mr. Simmons decided not to hammer him with questions right away. But he woke up at around eight o'clock wondering how to tell Mr. Simmons that he'd run away from home. Harold wanted to lie, but he was rather infamous for being the worst liar imaginable. He just couldn't handle pressure at all. He couldn't even lie to Rhonda about eating the stupid egg they were supposed to take care of for class… though he'd come close… sort of. Still, that was different. In eating that egg, he wasn't running away from home or facing parental consequences. And in lying about eating the egg, he was lying to a defenseless little rich girl who was four years younger than him.

This case was very much different. This time, he _had_ run away from home and was lying to his overprotective teacher who would certainly have a few disappointing words for him. Then, of course, there was the matter of his father and what kind of punishment he would get for this. It all seemed so right last night, when he was under the effects of both exhaustion and frustration. But now he wasn't so sure anymore. Either way, he knew he'd have to fess up to Simmons and face his father sooner or later.

Harold went downstairs and was pleasantly greeted by Mr. Simmons and the smell of bacon.

"Good morning, Harold."

"Morning, Mr. Simmons," Harold replied.

"Have a seat," Mr. Simmons offered. "Breakfast is almost ready."

Harold sat down and a few minutes later Simmons placed a plate of bacon and fried eggs and a glass of orange juice in front of him. Food was one of the few things that could take Harold's mind off of his struggles.

He ate peacefully and was starting his fifth slice of bacon when Mr. Simmons finally spoke up.

"Harold? I probably should've asked you this last night, but when exactly are we expecting your father?"

Harold almost choked on his bacon, and was extremely lucky not to have done so. He'd come so close to forgetting all about that measly problem. Leave it to a teacher to suddenly become so nosy. He knew there was no way out of this now.

Nervously fiddling with his fork, he took a deep breath and said, "Actually we're not."

Mr. Simmons looked puzzled for a brief moment and then made a face that said he understood. "You ran away?"

Harold didn't see the need to respond with words. He just looked down at his plate looking like he was regretting his decision.

"Harold, why would you… what in the world possessed you?"

"Well, see," Harold began. "The thing is, I didn't exactly give you all the details the other day in class."

"I'm listening," Mr. Simmons said half sternly.

Harold wanted so much to tell the whole story, but at the same time the last thing he wanted was for Simmons to get on his case. His father had already done that plenty of times.

"The truth is," he explained, "Dad and I really haven't been getting along since Mom… you know. I never noticed it before, but we really don't have so much in common. It's like we speak two different languages. I feel like I don't even know him anymore."

"I see," said Mr. Simmons.

"I had to run away, Mr. Simmons," Harold continued. "I wanted to come here 'cause I was afraid of spending my whole summer doing what he wanted me to do."

"That's certainly understandable."

"He's just so boring and the beach is so awesome, so of course he didn't wanna come. But then, last night, I had a…" He stopped at the memory of the dream/message he'd experienced in his sleep.

"You had a what?" Mr. Simmons asked.

Harold still wasn't sure what to call it. "I had a… let's say a strong _feeling_… that Mom wouldn't want me to be miserable right now. And I really hate to say it, but Dad's been making my life completely miserable."

Mr. Simmons nodded. "So because your father's been pressuring you so much, you couldn't face him any longer so you ran away from home?" he recapped.

"Pretty much," Harold replied.

"Well, frankly I can't say I blame you," said Mr. Simmons. "But think the absolute best thing for you to do is to go back home and…"

Harold shot up from his seat like a jack from its box. "No! I can't!"

Mr. Simmons, slightly shocked by Harold's reaction, held a hand up as a way of telling Harold to settle down. "Harold, please."

Harold took a few deep breaths and sat back down.

"Now," Simmons continued. "As I was saying, even though you may not want to, you have to go back because if you don't I'm sure your father will be terribly worried about you."

"No he wouldn't," Harold sighed. "He probably wouldn't even want me back. He thinks I'm stupid, loud, and ugly."

Mr. Simmons didn't buy that. "Has he ever actually told you that?"

"He doesn't have to," Harold convinced. "He's always hinted it. But now Mom's not here to get mad at him for it anymore. I have to stand up to him myself and whenever I try, I get punished for it."

"He seems rather judgmental then," Mr. Simmons observed.

"He _is_ judgmental," said Harold. "And I always feel worthless 'cause I'm not the perfect son he's always wanted. But I can't help it."

Mr. Simmons placed a hand on the teenager's shoulder. "Harold, I know what you're feeling, but still, running away was not the right thing to do."

"Well what was I supposed to do? Stay there and let him keep ruining my life?"

Mr. Simmons sighed. Harold had always been stubborn for a boy of rather limited intelligence. "I can see this is going to take a while."

"What?" Harold asked.

"It's becoming clear to me that you and your father need help."

"One of us needs it more than the other," Harold grumbled.

Mr. Simmons didn't approve of that statement. "I don't think that's anyone's place to say. Neither of you needs help more than the other. You both are having a hard time getting to understand each other and that's putting a strain on your relationship."

Harold didn't want to admit it, but that actually was a perfect way to describe his situation. He'd always thought his dad was boring, serious, and not interesting at all, but maybe the reality of that was that he (Harold) wasn't taking the time to get to know his father properly.

"So, what am I supposed to do now?" he asked.

"Why don't you go outside for a while?" Simmons suggested. "I'll let you have some quiet time to think of what you'd like to say to him. And when you're ready, I'll take you back home. Okay?"

Harold nodded. "Okay. Thanks a lot, Mr. Simmons."

Again, this was something he didn't want to admit, but in a way Mr. Simmons was more of a father to Harold than Jerry Berman was.

_End of chapter_


	6. Chapter 6

_Chapter 6_

For the next few hours, Harold stood by himself on the beach with only his thoughts for company. One of his main thoughts was the realization of how long it had been since he'd been to the beach and how it was no wonder why he'd wanted to come here so bad. He'd gone outside at first thinking only about his relationship with Jerry. After some time, the beautiful horizon finally caught his attention. The glittering ocean seemed to extend for miles ahead and the sky was clear and cloudless, which it rarely was in the city.

But something else caught Harold's attention too. The sandy ground, though hard to walk on, had such a crazy and interesting texture. He'd forgotten about sand and how fun it was. It reminded him of the sandbox he'd had in his youth. He kicked his shoes off and chuckled to himself as the buried his toes into the sand. It was such a funny feeling, and a funny look as it made his feet look completely toe-free.

He spent the next few hours innocently enjoying himself. Playing in the sand reminded him of a simpler time, before everything in his life became so difficult. All the while as he enjoyed the privileges of the beach, he completely forgot about Jerry. At least until…

"HAROLD BERMAN!"

Harold's heart stopped at the sound of his father's furious voice. He reluctantly and nervously turned around to see his father and Mr. Simmons on the veranda of the beach house. Mr. Simmons looked sympathetic, as if he was hoping Mr. Berman wouldn't remain angry with his son. But Harold knew that when his father became angry, there was little chance that he would settle down soon. There was something else that Harold concluded about his father; only a truly boring and serious man would come to the beach looking like a businessman. And that was exactly how Mr. Berman looked at that moment. He was dressed in his typical white collared shirt, maroon button-down sweater, dark un-faded jeans, and black loafers. He clearly wasn't willing to be a good beach guest to Mr. Simmons.

"Come here this instant, Harold!" Mr. Berman demanded.

Harold quickly rinsed his sandy feet off in the shallow water, put his shoes back on, and approached the veranda praying that Mr. Simmons would back him up in the upcoming argument.

"I hope you have a good excuse for this, young man," Mr. Berman said strictly.

"Well…"

Mr. Simmons tried to cover for Harold. "Mr. Berman, please. I know you must be feeling a lot of anxiety right now. What with waking up to find your son missing and having to miss work to come down here to find him. But you know how kids are these days. They can never resist summer at the beach. And I'm willing to take full responsibility for tempting him to come. So if anyone is to blame, it should be me."

"I appreciate your honesty, Mr. Simmons," said Mr. Berman. "But if you don't mind, I'd like to have a private talk with the one who ran away and disobeyed his father first. Then we'll talk." He glared at this son and said, "Inside, Harold."

Harold nervously looked down at his feet, terrified of what would happen once he and his father were alone. "Yes, sir."

Mr. Simmons helplessly watched the estranged father and son make their way inside. He'd never felt sadder for one of his students. He knew Jerry Berman was tame compared to Big Bob Pataki, but he could still become intimidating when giving someone a piece of his mind. He sat down in one of his veranda chairs and hoped this little reprimanding wouldn't be long, violent, or physical.

Mr. Berman, with his feet stomping furiously on the floor with each step, led a terrified Harold into the dining room. He stopped by the dinner table and pointed to the nearest chair.

"Sit," he ordered his son.

Harold obeyed and sat down, nervously awaiting the consequences of his actions.

"Where do I begin with this, Harold?" Mr. Berman began. "Deliberately disobeying me, running away in the middle of the night, scaring me half to death, making me miss work. Have I left anything out?"

"_Maybe the fact that it wouldn't have happened if you'd let me come here in the first place,"_ Harold thought.

"There aren't enough words in the English language to express how disappointed I am in you," Mr. Berman continued. "Not only did you go against my word, but you proved that I was right all along. I told you that if you came here you'd do nothing but rot your mind, and you've already proven that by rolling around in sand all morning."

"I was just trying to have some fun," Harold moped quietly.

"Well your idea of fun is childish," said Mr. Berman. "You're a thirteen-year-old young man and it's high time you started acting like it."

"But I'm only a kid."

"Not according to our religion, you're not."

It was only a matter of time before he brought up the topic of the ancient beliefs of the family's Jewish heritage.

"Stop living in the past, Dad," Harold boldly replied. "I'm sick of living my life old school."

Mr. Berman looked back at his son with both anger and shock. "How dare you talk back to me? How dare you defy our beliefs?"

"'Cause they're ancient and boring," said Harold. "And you're boring too. You never let me have any fun. All you want me to do is read and study, even when it's summer. It's not fair."

"Really? Well you might have overlooked this but _life_ isn't fair," Mr. Berman snapped. "And anyone who says otherwise is unrealistic if not…"

"Dead?" Harold guessed.

Mr. Berman said nothing. Dead wasn't the exact word he was looking for. The word he was looking for was something more along the lines of insane or mental. For a brief moment, both were silent so that Mr. Berman could think of how to respond to Harold's perspective. At last, he put on a rather unpleasant frown.

"I really hope this isn't about…"

"Well it is," Harold replied, knowing what his father's statement was going to end with. "It is about my mom. It's been about my mom this whole time. It's not about you and it's not about me, it's always been about her. _She_ was the one who encouraged me. _She_ was the one who supported me. _She_ was the one who loved me the way I am. And _she_ was the one who would tell me not to let someone else run my life for me. And all you've ever done is judge, criticize, and bore me to pieces."

Mr. Berman raised his eyebrow. "Is that so? And I suppose you're going to tell me she was the reason why you ran away? Did you think she was just out shopping and got lost in the middle of the night? You thought you could go out, find her on your own, and go back to being a mama's boy again?"

Harold was becoming increasingly angry with his father every time another word escaped his lips. "I just though that she would've wanted me to be happy and to have fun this summer. And I thought that if I could convince myself to do that, I could still make her happy."

"_Still_?" Mr. Berman repeated. "Well, now who's the one living in the past? Let me make this perfectly clear, son. Your mother is gone, and no matter how much you try to remember her, she's not coming back."

Harold angrily arose from his seat and looked his father straight in the eye. "You're wrong, Dad. She's still with me and she still loves me. She'll never be gone as long as I remember her."

Mr. Berman quietly shook his head. "It's time to stop living in the past, Harold. It causes nothing but heartache. Someday you'll understand that. Now get your things and let's go home." He turned around and made his way to the front door.

But Harold wasn't done with him. Half ready to cry, he shouted at the top of his voice, "I'LL NEVER STOP REMEMBERING THE ONLY PERSON WHO LOVED ME!"

Mr. Berman froze where he was and slowly turned to glare at his son with a look of shock in his eyes.

Harold, no longer afraid to hold back his feeling, continued. "Don't you get it? The only way I can be happy now is if I remember my mom."

"Then you may never be happy again," Mr. Berman said in a dangerously quiet voice.

"You know what I think, Dad?" Harold asked. "I think you're afraid to remember her because you miss her so much."

Now Mr. Berman was hinting that he was in denial. "That's enough, Harold."

"You don't wanna remember her because you think it'll keep making you sad!"

"Stop it."

"No, Dad!" Harold barked. "I won't stop. I'll never stop any of it. You know why? 'Cause I'm not you. I'm not afraid to remember someone just because I can't seem them anymore. The truth is when you really love someone and keep loving them, even when they're gone, they're always with you. I've had to teach myself that, and now it's time for you teach yourself."

The look on Mr. Berman's face was becoming less angry and, remarkably, more sad.

Harold continued. "If you really loved her as much as I hope you did, then you won't stop now just because she's not with us anymore. And shutting out all the memories you have of her means you don't love her. Now what's it gonna be?"

Mr. Berman looked thoughtful for a moment. Then suddenly looked serious again. "This discussion is over. I'll be outside if you need me."

"Dad…" Harold tried to reason with his father, but the latter was already out the door before another word could be said. Feeling defeated and disowned, Harold sat back down and tearfully buried his face in his hands.

Mr. Berman slammed the door behind him and marched right past Mr. Simmons, who he had completely forgotten was there.

"Mr. Berman!" Mr. Simmons called. He arose from his chair and ran to catch up with Mr. Berman. "Mr. Berman!"

"Not now, Mr. Simmons," Mr. Berman replied flatly.

"Uh oh," Mr. Simmons responded. "I take it things didn't go well?"

"That's correct," Mr. Berman replied, still marching furiously. "Now if you don't mind, I need a little private time. I'm going to rent a rowboat. Maybe a few hours at sea will make me feel better."

"Very well then," said Mr. Simmons. "But don't stay out too long. I heard on the radio earlier that we're in for a bad storm."

Mr. Berman glanced up at the blue, cloudless sky and sarcastically said, "I'll take your word for it. Good day, Simmons." And with that, he marched off to the nearby docks, leaving Mr. Simmons alone hoping the father and son would reconcile soon.

_End of chapter_


	7. Chapter 7

_Chapter 7_

When Mr. Simmons went back inside the house, he found Harold seated at the dining room table crying his eyes out. This wasn't so surprising. Harold may have been a bit rough around the edges but, to be quite frank, he was a closet crybaby. Normally the things he would cry about were silly and insignificant. But now Mr. Simmons actually had a soft spot for him. This time, he was crying about something any young person would cry about. To be thirteen years old with no mother and a pugnacious father must've been far too much for a thirteen-year-old to handle.

Simmons approached his student from behind and put a caring hand on his shoulder.

"Are you alright, Harold?" he asked in a caring voice.

Harold sniffed once, dried his face with the torso part of his shirt, and answered, "No. How can I be alright when one of my parents is dead and the other one doesn't want any part of me?"

"Things didn't go well I trust?" Mr. Simmons asked.

Harold knew there was no point in lying anymore. Mr. Simmons knew everything at this point. All there was to do was recap. "Right when I think it couldn't get any worse, it does. I was finally getting him to come out and then he just walked away. I used to think he was just harsh. Now I see him for what he really is; a _coward_!"

He said the last word so loudly that Mr. Simmons ducked in shock.

Harold remorsefully covered his mouth. "Sorry if I scared you."

"It's okay, Harold," Mr. Simmons informed.

"It's just that I'm so angry with him," Harold continued. "First he tells me straight out not to think about my mom. Then I tell him to admit that he misses her too and he manages to get out of it."

Mr. Simmons looked back at the teenager. "My goodness."

"He doesn't have any feelings at all," Harold moped.

Once again, Mr. Simmons wasn't entirely convinced of Harold's statement. "I'm sure it's not what you think, Harold. Maybe he just didn't know how to respond. You did kind of put him in an awkward position, you know. He just left to rent a rowboat for a while to clear his head."

"He's gonna come back angrier than ever," Harold thought. "I'm scared, Mr. Simmons."

Mr. Simmons sighed. "Even though I understand your feelings, I doubt there's any need to worry."

But Harold didn't agree. "I hope he learns some kinda lesson from this."

"Careful what you wish for, Harold," Mr. Simmons warned. "Because suppose it comes true. How do you think you'd feel then?"

Harold shrugged. "I don't know. That depends on the lesson."

"Well I've never been superstitious," said Mr. Simmons. "But now that you've said it, it'll probably happen. Especially with that storm coming."

Harold scoffed. He clearly was far less superstitious than Mr. Simmons. "Nah. I don't want that kinda lesson."

"Still, let's just hope he gets back here safely. Now, how about some lunch?" Mr. Simmons offered.

"Yes, please," Harold replied darkly with his mind still burdened with visions of his father mildly suffering.

* * *

><p>Jerry Berman had been at sea for at least three hours. He'd rented a small rowboat from a friendly old fellow for a very cheap price. The old man had warned Jerry about the upcoming storm. The widower's response was no different than the one he'd given to Mr. Simmons; a sarcastic "thanks for the tip," and he was on his merry way.<p>

At that time, though, it seemed like there truly wouldn't be a storm. Now Jerry was far away from land and, though he hadn't noticed much, the sun was now completely hidden behind gray clouds. But he was far too lost in his thoughts to pay any attention.

Not really caring where he was going, Jerry had paddled all the while only looking down at his feet and the brown wood of the bottom of the boat. He was calm and dead-eyed on the surface, but on the inside he was a thunderstorm. A great game of Tug-o-War was being held in his brain and the competitors were one and the same: his conscience.

He didn't want to admit it, but Harold was right. Marilyn's death had left an emotional scar on the poor man and that loss had left him so broken hearted that he refused to think of her at all. He'd tried to be strong for their son, but it'd done nothing but strain what was left of their relationship. He'd completely shut Harold out of his life, but whether it was out of a newly darkened heart or to avoid the possibly pain of losing another loved one was unclear. But one thing was for sure; he'd made a mistake. He'd known it all along, but he'd never thought about it until only hours ago when Harold had seen right through him.

Harold. He wasn't the sharpest tool in the box, but in their current situation he'd proven to be much wiser than his father. Harold could actually handle Marilyn's death better than his father could eve hope to. Removing her from their memories wasn't the proper way to cope with their loss. Those memories were the very thing that made her live on. And if Jerry wouldn't let them stay with him, then he was the one who had killed his wife. Harold had proven that to him.

But it was easy for Harold. He was only thirteen. He had his whole life ahead of him. He would one day become a mature young man and would learn what it meant to be in love. When he found the girl of his dreams, then he would understand the fear of losing the person he had sacrificed everything for. And he would do everything to provide for her and make sure she was taken care of.

But it was too late for Jerry now. The one he'd loved was now gone forever. For roughly twenty years, he'd lived his life for Marilyn in vain. He'd found love and subsequently lost it. There was no chance of him finding it again. He was a forty-eight-year-old man whose good looks had long since gone to seed. Baldness, glasses, eye circles, and a husky build were what made him up now. None were refundable and none were what women wanted. He'd lived his life. He was done as a husband and a man, whereas Harold still had so much to live for.

These thoughts and struggles were suddenly interrupted by a flash of light and a bolt of thunder. Jerry looked up at the dark sky in shock. He'd been so deep in thought that he hadn't been paying attention to the weather. But the sky wasn't the only hint of the severity of the upcoming danger. The sea was becoming rough and choppy and Jerry felt he would soon be dangerously close to falling overboard.

There was only one thing to do. He had to start paddling. But still there was a problem. The water was getting increasing rough and he could barely make out the small strip of land that he'd been rowing away from for three hours. Now facing a matter of life and death, he gripped his oars tightly and paddled for his life.

After only a few minutes, he'd hardly made any progress. Huge waves were starting to form all around him. Heavy raindrops began to pour down and soon he was drenched from head to toe while battling the blasting wind. In spite of all his surroundings, he continued to paddle. But land was still so far ahead and was showing no signs of getting any closer. Rain, wind, thunder, lightning, and the rough, bitterly cold ocean were blocking his road to safety.

The suddenly, just as he'd feared, a wave, practically big enough to surf on, curled up from the ocean and charged right at Jerry's tiny wooden rowboat. He tried to dodge it, but it was too late. The white, foamy wave crushed the tiny vessel's side, causing the poor man to be launched helplessly into the treacherous sea.

Jerry sank like a stone into the painfully cold water. The cold was so painful that he was almost reluctant to move. But he knew he had to in order to save himself. He shut his eyes and began kicking his way up to the surface. He finally made his way up and was only able to get a brief glance of the deadly waves that surrounded him. One of which rolled up to him faster than lightning and struck him right in the face, almost breaking his glasses.

There was little hope for him now. He was far from land and the sea was too powerful and cold to survive much longer in. Half conscious, he found himself being tossed and turned by the horrific waves. They struck him, they stung his eyes, and they dragged him under. He could barely manage to catch a single breath all the while.

Finally he accepted this as a sign. There was no point in living anymore. He'd lost everything he once held dear and would never get it back. He was no match for the coldness of the ocean anyway. And so, unafraid, he allowed the biggest wave yet to approach him, not bothering to take a breath. The wave struck him hard in the face. He swallowed a big gulp of salt water and knew no more.

_End of chapter_


	8. Chapter 8

_Chapter 8_

It was night by the time the storm had cleared. By eight o'clock, the sea had settled and the clouds had cleared. The storm had been short, but powerful. It had left the beach completely covered with driftwood, which Harold noticed as he looked worriedly out the window.

"Where is he?" he asked.

Mr. Simmons, who had just finished building a fire in the fireplace, answered, "I don't know, Harold. But we can't start suspecting the worst. We have to have faith and a warm fire for him to relax by when he gets back."

But Harold couldn't have faith. There was no room for faith in a mind that was so loaded down by worry and guilt.

"I'm scared, Mr. Simmons."

"I'd consider you a fool if you weren't," Mr. Simmons replied. "But right now I consider him the fool. I tried to warn him about the storm."

Harold didn't want to hear anyone refer to his father as a fool. If Simmons had said it earlier that day, Harold would have agreed. But not now, when his father could be drowning or worse.

"Don't say that," Harold warned tearfully. "He's not the fool, I am. _I'm_ the one who ran away, _I'm_ the one who made him mad, and _I'm_ the one who wanted him to learn a lesson. He wouldn't be out there right now if it wasn't for me."

Mr. Simmons approached his pupil and sat down next to him by the windowsill. "It's not your fault, Harold."

"Yes it is," Harold protested.

"No, it's not," Simmons assured gently. "And frankly right now I'm very proud of you."

Harold looked up at Mr. Simmons through tearful eyes. "Proud of me?"

Mr. Simmons nodded. "For worrying about your father. The way you acted earlier, I was afraid that if he was still out there, you would be happy. But instead you're worried sick, and that's not a bad thing. If anything, it makes you strong because it shows that you really love him."

Harold thought that over for a second and then nodded. "You're right. I do love him and I wish I'd never talked back to him. I just want him here right now so I can hug him and tell him I'm sorry."

He looked at Mr. Simmons, who looked back at him sympathetically. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw something that made his heart stop. Through the window behind Mr. Simmons, Harold could see a person on the beach, lying motionless in the shallow water. It was a man. Harold couldn't make out the man's face, but his clothes revealed his identity.

"Dad!" Harold yelled, jumping to his feet.

Mr. Simmons turned in his seat and looked out the window. "Mr. Berman!" He too jumped to his feet. "Let's go, Harold!" he said urgently.

Harold nodded and the two rushed out the door and ran to Jerry Berman's hopefully undead body.

Harold's face was tearstained when he saw his father up close. Jerry was lying on his back with his eyes and mouth closed. The rough ocean had washed away his shoes, leaving him barefoot, his jeans had been torn up to the knees, and his sweater had been practically reduced to a fishnet. Yet miraculously, his glasses had neither been swept away nor broken. Harold and Mr. Simmons knelt down and began examining Jerry's body. His skin was bitterly cold at the touch, which made Harold all the more nervous.

Mr. Simmons lifted Jerry's arm and felt for a pulse, then sighed out of relief.

"Is he alive?" Harold asked.

"He's unconscious but he's okay," Mr. Simmons replied. "At least for now."

"For now?" Harold repeated.

"I think it's hypothermia," Simmons said breathlessly. "Remember that, from the science final?"

Harold nodded. He did remember what hypothermia meant and he remembered what it could lead to if it went uncured. "What are we gonna do?" he asked, more worried about his father than ever.

"First, we need to get him out of the water or he'll keep getting colder," Mr. Simmons answered urgently. "Then we need to get him inside, dry him off, and do all we can to get his body temperature up."

"How…"

"No time for questions," Mr. Simmons interrupted. "I'll explain everything in time, but for now we must get him inside. Now quickly, Harold. You grab that arm, I'll take this one, and we'll carry him into the house."

Willing to help in any way, Harold obeyed and got under his father's left arm. Simmons got under the right arm, and together they dragged the unconscious Jerry out of the deadly cold water. Jerry was a heavy man, but Mr. Simmons and especially Harold were willing to save his life, so they marched on with all of Jerry's weight on their backs. Luckily they were only a few yards from the house.

Once they were in the front door, Harold asked, "What now?"

"Let's get him on the couch," said Mr. Simmons. "It'll help if he's close to the fire."

The two of them proceeded to the couch and stretched Jerry out onto the seat cushions. The poor man looked cozier already. But they weren't done yet, as far as Mr. Simmons was concerned.

"Alright, Harold," he said. "This may sound disturbing but we need to get all of his wet clothes off. And I mean _all_ of them. And since he's your father, you shouldn't mind seeing him naked. So you get his clothes off while I go upstairs and fetch some blankets."

Harold wasn't grossed out at all. His father's life was in danger and he knew every procedure was important and should be accepted as normal. "Okay."

Mr. Simmons dashed out of the living while Harold removed all the soaked rags from his father's cold body. When Simmons returned moments later with a small pile of blankets under his arm, Jerry was completely naked.

"Well done, Harold," Mr. Simmons said, caring not to look at the unconscious man's naked body. "Now take a few of these blankets and keep him covered."

Harold took two blankets and the two of them bundled Jerry up hoping he would warm up soon.

"All we can do now is wait," Mr. Simmons informed Harold.

Harold looked helplessly down at his father's blank face, which was the only part of his anatomy that was visible now. It pained Harold greatly to see him like this, and the worst part was that most of it was his fault. Mr. Simmons studies Harold's expression and noticed yet another tear falling from his eye.

"On second thought, Harold, if it really means so much to you, there's one more thing you could do."

"What?" Harold asked, eager to accept and perform whatever was asked of him.

"He needs body heat," said Mr. Simmons. "Someone should undress and get under the blankets with him. This procedure works best when it's skin touching skin. And since you're the heavier built of the two of us…"

Harold nodded eagerly. "I'll do it."

"Very well. And don't worry about a thing, Harold. Have faith, don't blame yourself, and do everything for him out of love."

"I will," Harold replied tearfully.

"I'll go to bed then," said Mr. Simmons. "If you notice any differences, good or bad, wake me right away."

Mr. Simmons left the living room and left Harold to play the role of hero on his own. Without wasting another minute, Harold did as his teacher had instructed. He stripped down to his underwear and carefully got under the blankets with his father. It wasn't a comfortable position for him at all. Despite the blankets and the heat of the fireplace, Jerry's bare body was still as cold as ever. But Harold knew he would continue to get colder without someone there to supply body heat. So he huddled against Jerry's icy chest and let out all the tears he'd managed to hold back before.

"I'm sorry, Dad," he sobbed. "This isn't what I wanted."

But Jerry offered no reply. Harold threw his arms around his dying father, pretending he was conscious so they could share a poignant moment.

"Please don't die, Dad," Harold pleaded. "I'll never forgive myself if you do."

Still, Jerry was silent.

A few hours passed, but Harold was reluctant to fall asleep. He would literally never rest until he knew of his father's fate.

It was about two in the morning when Harold finally spoke again. "Dad?" he asked his statuesque father. "I know you can't hear me and I know it's been a while since I've said this, but…" He hesitated for a moment before letting more tears fall. Then, still snuggling against Jerry's chest, he whispered the three words that he hoped would save his father from death. "I love you."

_End of chapter_


	9. Chapter 9

_Chapter 9 _

It was morning, 9:30 to be exact. Harold had spent the whole night offering his body heat to his father, without sleeping and in an uncomfortable position. Jerry was still out cold and hadn't budged all night. Harold was beginning to lose all that was left of his hope. There was no chance Jerry could survive now. The fire in the fireplace had died out hours ago, but it seemed to have helped while it lasted. Jerry wasn't so cold at the touch anymore, but Harold still couldn't have faith. He'd wanted his father to learn a lesson and Jerry had thought there was no more reason for him to live. Everyone had gotten what they wanted. Or at least that's how it seemed at the moment.

Unbeknownst to Harold, Jerry had, in fact, survived the storm and the bitterly cold ocean. But given the condition he was in at that moment, it was impossible to tell. Still, Jerry managed to slowly find his way back to consciousness. He didn't open his eyes right away, but he could sense that he was alive and nowhere near freezing to death. He tried to remember what had happened before his world had gone black, but all he remembered was drowning and a roaring wave charging at him. Surely he would've drowned. He'd been so far from land at that time. How could he have gotten back, especially since he obviously couldn't swim? That didn't matter though. What mattered now was finding out where he was. He exhaustedly opened his old, stinging eyes halfway and found himself in Mr. Simmons' beach house living room. It was morning now. How long had he been out? His other surroundings slowly came into focus. He gradually gained awareness that he was naked and bundled up in blankets. Subsequently, he realized someone was clinging to his front. He looked down at the individual and let out a silent tear when he saw that it was Harold.

Relieved, though too tired to show it in his face, Jerry lifted his arm weakly and put it around his son's shoulders.

"H-Harold," he stuttered in a raspy, shaking voice.

Harold's eyes instantly shot open. He looked up at his father, who was looking back at him with dead eyes. It seemed too good to be true, but he knew he wasn't dreaming because he never once fell asleep. And it seemed to him that with his father's bulky arm around him, he felt several degrees warmer. It wasn't a dream at all. Jerry was alive.

"Dad," Harold wept, snuggling against his father's chest.

"I'm-I'm fine, Son."

"I'm sorry," Harold said tearfully.

Jerry took his time while replying. He was too weak to say everything at once. "No… I'm s-sorry… You were right… About everything…"

"Shh," Harold shushed. "How do you feel?"

Again, Jerry hesitated to answer right away. "Dizzy," he said after about ten seconds. "Numb, tired, and honestly dead."

The last word threw Harold off completely. "Don't say that. You can't die, Dad. You just can't!"

Jerry had just given an honest answer. He felt so dizzy and dazed that he could hardly think. And whenever he closed his eyes, even just to blink, he could still see the deadly wave rushing at him to claim his life. He shuddered with every blink and begged the horrific images to go away. Still, he was not going to die. He knew that now, because looking down at his heartbroken son, he realized that all was not lost and that he still had something worth living for, even as a widower. He had to be strong, for Harold's sake.

"I won't leave you," he said in a raspy but heartfelt tone. "I let you down once… You needed me… And I wasn't there… I won't let that happen again."

They continued to share a loving moment a few minutes longer. Then Harold, who by now had cried himself dry, told his father to get some rest. Jerry fell asleep instantly. Harold dressed and went to the kitchen, where Mr. Simmons was enjoying a small breakfast.

"Well done, Harold," Mr. Simmons said proudly after Harold told him the great news. "You saved his life."

Harold was being modest. "I only did what you told me to do."

Mr. Simmons smiled. "Then I guess we both saved him. And it sounds like you two may finally be starting to get along."

"Yeah, I guess so," said Harold. "I mean, last night I thought he was a goner. Now I'm just glad he's still here even after everything I said about him."

"Do you think he's learned something too?"

Harold nodded, remembering what his father had told him only minutes ago. "I know he has."

"Then it should all be smooth sailing when you both go home," said Mr. Simmons. "Which reminds me, we'd better get him home soon."

"How come?" Harold asked.

"Because when he came here yesterday, he thought he just going to be staying for the day," Mr. Simmons explained. "So he only brought one set of clothes, which have been reduced to rags because of the storm."

"I never thought of that," said Harold. He wasn't too flustered by that observation though because after spending a whole night worrying about his father's life, clothes were meaningless. "And I don't have anything that'll fit him."

"Me neither," said Mr. Simmons.

"Then what are we gonna do?" Harold asked.

"Well for now we should let him rest," Mr. Simmons suggested. "We'll wake him in a few hours and then we'll decide what to do about clothes. Then I'll take you both back in his car."

"How are you gonna get back here then?" Harold asked.

Mr. Simmons thought that over and then said, "I'll take the bus."

About two hours later, Harold gently nudged Jerry to wake him up. Jerry yawned and opened his tired eyes reluctantly.

"How are you feeling, Mr. Berman?" Mr. Simmons asked quietly.

"A little better," Jerry replied. "And please, call me Jerry," he smiled.

Mr. Simmons chuckled. "Well, Jerry, Harold and I realized that soon we'll have to get you home. But there are just two things we need to make sure of first. We need to make sure you're able to walk and we need to find you something to wear before we leave."

Jerry suddenly looked puzzled. "Oh yeah…" He still wasn't able to talk at a normal pace. "What happened to my clothes?"

Harold picked up the remnants of Jerry's shirt, pants, and sweater and held them up to their owner. "The storm ruined them."

"Oh no…" said Jerry. "Even my shoes?"

"They were long gone when we found you," said Mr. Simmons.

"Then what am I going to wear for now?" Jerry asked.

"I don't know," Harold joked. "But it's a good thing we're at the beach, where everyone's always half-naked."

"This is serious, Harold," said Mr. Simmons. "We may have to fashion something for you to wear. All that really matters is if we keep… certain areas covered."

"Could we use one of his blankets?" Harold asked.

"That could work," said Mr. Simmons, who actually seemed to like the idea. "We can tie the thinnest blanket around his waste, like a towel after a shower."

So they attempted this. They found the smallest, thinnest blanket of the bunch and tied it around Jerry's waist. It wasn't easy because Jerry's legs and knees were so weak that he could hardly stand. Plus, the blanket looked like a long skirt on Jerry, but they all knew it was the only option they had. Jerry then threw his arm around Harold's shoulder and the latter helped him walk.

"I hope this doesn't become a regular thing," Harold said as he helped his father to the door.

"This may just be the only time you'll have to do it," said Mr. Simmons. "Your father's still very weak and tired and he should stay off his feet for a few days at least. So even tough you won't be helping him walk so much, you'll have to help him out in any way you can, Harold."

Harold looked at his dazed father and said, "I promise I will."

Mr. Simmons drove the Bermans home in Jerry's car. It was a rather quiet ride, as Jerry needed all the peace and rest he could get. While Simmons drove and Jerry rested, Harold kept an eye on his father and vowed then and there to comfort and pamper him as long as he remained in his current condition.

When they arrived at the Berman household, Harold tapped Jerry to wake him up. All three of them got out of the car, which was by no means easy for Jerry.

"Make sure he gets plenty of rest as long as he's like this," Mr. Simmons advised Harold.

"Don't worry, I will," Harold promised.

"Thank you so much," Jerry said with a weak smile.

"You're very welcome, Jerry," Mr. Simmons replied. "And I'm very proud of you Harold. I know you'll do well in the fifth grade."

"Thanks a lot, Mr. Simmons," said Harold. "For everything."

They said their last goodbyes and everyone went their separate ways. Mr. Simmons went down the street to get to the bus stop and Harold helped his father into their house.

_End of chapter. One more to go. _


	10. Chapter 10

_Chapter 10_

Once inside, Harold began to help his father become as comfortable as possible. This wasn't going to be easy, he knew that, but he would do everything he could with love and that made it worth it.

"C'mon, Dad," he said to Jerry. "Let's get you cleaned up and into bed."

"Okay," Jerry replied weakly. "But you're going to have to help me upstairs."

"I know," Harold replied. And so he did, though the process was all but easy. But he never complained about it once, which Jerry thought was unusual for his son.

They went to the bathroom, where Harold ran a hot bubble bath for his father. They removed the blanket from Jerry's waist and Harold helped him into the tub, which was filled to the top with foamy bubbles. The hot water felt heavenly on his aching body, but even with the bathing process Jerry needed his son to assist him. But Harold was willing to do anything to comfort his dad. The bath lasted about half an hour and Jerry almost literally never lifted a finger the whole time. Harold spoiled him by scrubbing him with a brush, shampooing his hair, and even massaging his shoulders.

"You're really tense, Dad," Harold said as he rubbed his father's bare, stiff shoulders.

Jerry inhaled deeply and said, "I'm sure you'd be too if you almost died by drowning and subsequently freezing to death."

Harold chuckled.

When Jerry was finished with his bath, Harold helped him out of the tub and dried him off. Then they went to Jerry's closet to fetch him some clothes. As Jerry wasn't expecting to go anywhere for a while, he chose something completely casual and easy to sleep in: a red tank top and a pair of blue gym shorts. Once he'd changed, Harold didn't even recognize his father. Bare arms, bare legs, and bare feet.

"I don't think I've ever seen you dressed like this, Dad," said Harold.

"Well it is summer," Jerry smiled tiredly. "I think it's high time I started dressing for it. Now please help your old man to his bed."

Harold obeyed.

"Much better," Jerry said in a peaceful tone as he rested his body on his familiar bed.

"Need anything else?" Harold asked.

A sudden rumbling sound from Jerry's stomach answered that question. The look on his face reflected pain as he held his hands to his belly. "I'm so hungry," he whimpered.

"On it," Harold said quickly.

He went downstairs and returned minutes later with a cheese sandwich and a glass of milk. While Jerry ate, Harold massaged his aching feet. Neither spoke as this occurred. Jerry was silent out of both exhaustion and confusion. He studied the melancholy look on his son's face and wondered what had caused all this. Since when had Harold become so concerned and helpful? All day long, the once immature teenager had helped his damaged father in every way possible without a word of complaint.

The reason seemed pretty obvious actually. Last night, Harold thought his only living parent was a goner. And now he was making sure his father was in as much comfort as possible since the last thing the latter had felt in so long was comfort. In just over twelve hours, Harold had provided Jerry with body heat, helped him to walk, bathed him, dressed him, brought him food, and now he was giving him a much needed foot massage. This seemed like something any loving/responsible son would do for his father.

After a few minutes, Jerry set his empty plate and glass on his bedside dresser. "Harold?"

Harold looked up immediately.

Jerry smiled and said, "… Thanks. My old feet needed this."

Harold returned the smile, but it vanished shortly when he looked back down at the weak bare foot in his hands. He shed a small tear when he realized that that foot would be working properly right now if it weren't for him.

"I'm sorry, Dad," he sobbed.

"Don't be," said Jerry. "You have nothing to be sorry for. None of this would be happening if it weren't for me. I'm the one that should be sorry."

"Why?" Harold asked. "I'm not the one hurt in bed."

"But you were still hurt," Jerry pointed out. "And it was all my fault. I'm sorry for everything I've ever said to you, Harold. I'm ashamed of myself for judging you so much. Right now I'm just glad we're both here so I can tell you that."

Harold smiled. "Is there anything else you'd like?"

Jerry nodded. "Yes, actually. I'd like my son to stop treating himself like a slave, come here, and let me hold him."

Knowing that the Jerry Berman he once knew was long gone, Harold wouldn't dare turn down such an offer. He lay down beside his father and snuggled against him warmly. Jerry was weak, but he still had the strength to wrap his bare arms around his son.

"Thank you, Harold," said Jerry.

"For what?" Harold asked.

"For saving my life," Jerry replied. "When I was out there in that storm, I thought I might as well give up on life. Without your mother, I no longer felt the need to live. But now I realize that something kept me going. Something gave me hope and that was what saved me."

Harold didn't understand. "What was it?"

"That you still needed me," said Jerry with a smile. "It was you that kept me going. I couldn't leave you alone with no one to care for you. So thank you."

"You're welcome. But why would you give up so easily?"

Jerry sighed. "Maybe because I didn't think anyone could ever love me the way your mother did. I've been missing her so much and ever since she died I've been hoping to find love again. But I'm not the young ladies man I once was, Harold. I'm an old geezer who…"

"Dad, no!" Harold wept, burying his face deeper into Jerry's chest. "Don't talk like that! You're not gonna die!"

"I'm sorry, Son," Jerry whispered. "You're right, I'm not going to die. I'm not leaving you."

Harold settled down some, still clinging to the warmth of his father's tank top.

Seeing how much his son needed him made Jerry realize something. It didn't matter if he'd never be married again. Maybe he didn't need that kind of love. He didn't need to be a tall, dark, and handsome young man with a girl to match on his arm. He'd already lived those days and they had been fine while they lasted. What he needed, and had, now was a different kind of love. The kind of love that he would get no matter if he was old, young, ugly, handsome, slender, or fat. This love was unconditional and it could only be given by a son.

"Dad?" Harold asked.

"Yeah?"

"She still loves you, ya know."

Jerry smiled. "Yeah, I know. And no one will ever replace her. And no one will ever replace you."

"Thanks, Dad," said Harold. "Now get some rest."

Jerry yawned. "Alright. And a few days from now when I'm back on my feet, we can do whatever you want for your summer vacation."

"You mean you don't wanna take that road trip you were talking about?" Harold asked hopefully.

"I'm reinventing myself, Harold," said Jerry. "I'm through with being a businessman in my own house. I mean it's summer. I should be out in the sunshine, in a tank top, being active and spending time with my boy."

Harold chuckled. "This isn't some kinda midlife crisis talking, is it Dad?"

"Nah," said Jerry. "It's the new fun-loving me. I've changed for the better, and I owe it all to you. You've saved me in more ways than one, Son. Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Jerry could feel a wave of exhaustion overpowering him. He yawned once more and before dozing off he said, "I really love you, Son."

"I love you too, Dad."

Moments later, Harold could feel Jerry's grip loosening as the latter fell into a much needed sleep. The teenager didn't overlook how peaceful his father looked as he napped. That was understandable considering what the poor man had been through recently. Harold, on the other hand, wasn't tired in the least, but he still stayed where he was. Even though his dad was out like a light, Harold didn't want to remove himself from the fatherly warmth that he'd only just been introduced to. So with his head still buried in Jerry's chest and his arms wrapped tightly around his belly, Harold continued to shower his old man with love.

"I'll always be here to help you, Dad," he promised.

The wall between father and son had finally been torn down. Love had led them back to each other, never to be separated again.

"I better remember to thank Mr. Simmons next time I see him," Harold thought.

_End of story_

_**Author's Note:** Sorry for the late update! These past few weeks have been really busy for me, but I hope you all enjoyed!_


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